


Goodnight, Moon

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M, Nudity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Louis tucks Philippe in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the title. I couldn't help myself. I hope I haven't ruined anyone's childhood.
> 
> Thanks everyone for the support as I try my hand at a new fandom. 
> 
> I don't own these folks, but you knew that.

By Vera d’Auriac

 

Philippe’s behavior was unacceptable. Although Louis would never forget his hurt when his brother had left him after Henriette’s death, he could understand it, even forgive it. Philippe had been grieving, and Louis could begrudgingly grant him some time away. So when Philippe and the Chevalier finally returned to Versailles, Louis was prepared to start, yet again, with his brother. But then the Chevalier had been called off to Lorraine, and Philippe became ungovernable.

By turns petulant, then enraged when he wasn’t silently sullen, Philippe, volatile at the best of times, had made scene after scene. Louis didn’t think his brother had been sober two out of twenty-four hours of any day since the Chevalier’s departure. Something must be done, but who could Louis give this task? He’d mentioned it obliquely to both Jacques and Claudine, but a king did not send his gardener nor his physician to deal with his own brother. Philippe was Louis’s problem (and always would be), and Louis would see to him now.

But no one in the palace needed to know as much.

After changing into his nightgown, Louis wrapped himself in his robe and lit a candle. Bontemps surely thought he was off to see Madame de Montespan, and if his conversation with Philippe went smoothly, perhaps he would after. Although hoping for “smooth” was a bit optimistic. If it went quickly and didn’t leave Louis in an impossibly foul mood, he would go.

Passing through the private corridor, Louis reached his brother’s bedroom. He simply knocked and entered. Briefly, as he opened the door, Louis worried that, perhaps, Philippe might not be alone. But that was not the case, and to Louis’s mind, part of the problem. No, Philippe stood, still mostly dressed from supper, staring out of his window. He did not respond to Louis’s entrance, his only movement his hand raising the wineglass to his lips. His shoulders slumped and his black hair curtained much of his face. But enough moonlight filtered through the glass for Louis to make out his brother’s pale frown.

“Brother,” Louis said, once he had the door closed behind him. “You should be in bed.”

“Then why are you here? To disturb my sleep? I assure you that I have no need of your services on that front.”

“Had you been sleeping, obviously, I would have left. Let me help get you ready for bed.” Without awaiting invitation, Louis walked to the bedside table nearest Philippe. He set down his candle and picked up the fresh, white nightgown laid out on the pillow. “You will be happier after a night’s sleep.”

“Are you implying I’m not happy now?” Philippe said. He remained staring into the black garden outside, sipping his wine, but Louis could hear the growing irritation in his voice.

“Do you think I do not notice when you are unhappy?”

Philippe shrugged. “I’m sure you notice when I walk on the furniture in the card room.”

Naturally, Louis had witnessed this particular act of rebellion after supper. The entire court had. “What, precisely, was the point, again, of jumping from chair to chair?”

Philippe sighed dramatically, finally turning to face Louis. “The lines of the floor are actually gateways to the underworld. I’m too pretty for Hades, if you hadn’t noticed.”

As much as he wanted to, Louis could not repress a smile. Instead, he walked over to his brother. “Yes, I should have guessed as much. Let me help you with the collar.” Louis draped the nightgown over the back of a chair next to Philippe and then began to undress his brother.

“You understood, though,” said Philippe.

“Understood?” Louis asked, as he set to work on the rest of Philippe’s ties and buttons.

“That I was unhappy,” Philippe whispered.

Bontemps had called him “infantile,” and Louvois insisted he was “mad,” but Louis had known. A happy Philippe did not behave this way. Since childhood, Philippe had been possessed of a wildness. But those impulses remained in check when he had what he needed and he felt loved. His worst behavior always came when he felt the deepest hurts. It was why Louis had forgiven him for leaving after Henriette’s death. To compound Philippe’s sorrows would have been needlessly cruel. Not to mention a constant headache of Louis attempting to address his brother’s outrageous behavior and breaches of the etiquette rules he had penned himself.

“You should marry again,” Louis said.

Philippe huffed. “Not this again. I have no mind to marry.”

Louis, and Philippe deep down, knew that Philippe was too important to France to remain unwed, but tonight was not the moment to press the issue. “Then you should take a lover.”

“Ha!” Philippe laughed quite literally in Louis’s face. “Did you really forget, I already have one of those. About your height, blond, fetching mustache, marvelous dresser.”

“I mean another lover.” Louis pulled Philippe’s shirt off over his head. “You are miserable alone, and the Chevalier is not due to return for some weeks, I believe. A bit of release would be good for you.”

Louis was about to start on his brother’s breeches when Philippe smacked his hand away. “I’ve no desire for another lover.” Philippe stumbled past Louis toward the bed, wine sloshing over the rim. “I am not you, brother. Besides, I believe you have more than enough lovers for the both of us.”

Louis almost said what he felt—that he hated seeing Philippe lonely and sad. But his pity would be more unwelcome than his suggestion, so he said nothing. Instead, he snatched up the nightgown and followed his brother to the bed. Next to the candle Louis had brought in, he now saw the decanter. Philippe, of course, was pouring himself a refill. Louis waited for Philippe to finish pouring, set the decanter down, and took a drink. “Then what can I do to keep you from destroying the furniture in the card room? Your heels are horrible on silk upholstery.”

Philippe guffawed and Louis smiled along with him. “Point taken. It is unfair to spend as much as I do on shoes and then expect you also to pay for the damage they cause.”

Louis settled on the bed next to him. He brushed his fingertips along his brother’s naked shoulders. For now, Philippe was warm, but Louis should get him changed, under the covers, and without wine. “Let me get you into bed.”

Philippe giggled into his wine glass. “Are you offering to be my new lover? I must say, you’ve done a great many lovely things for me over the years, but this would really top everything.”

“What happened to your shoes?” Louis asked, looking down at Philippe’s bare feet.

“Do not change the subject,” Philippe laughed, tugging at Louis’s arm. “I am interested to hear precisely which services you would be willing to perform for your sad, lonely brother.”

“Absolutely none,” Louis snapped. He rose to his feet and glared back down at Philippe. “You’ve had your little joke, and you do not care for my eminently suitable suggestion. I will leave you now.”

But before Louis could go anywhere, Philippe set down his glass and stood to peer into Louis’s eyes. “No. Don’t go. I’m sorry. You’re probably right. I’m sure the Chevalier is not living the life of a monk while he is gone from me.” Philippe turned his face away, his gaze once more drawn to the black window. “Why should I save myself for him when he would never wait for me?”

Every word from Philippe’s shaky lips made Louis despise the Chevalier de Lorraine more. Rarely had he spoken truer words than when he had told the Chevalier that Philippe deserved better. Philippe should be loved by someone worthy of the beauty and faith of his heart. A description the Chevalier fell as short of as May does December. Saying any of this to Philippe at any point in time, let alone when he was maudlin and drunk, would be a profoundly bad idea. “There is a new painter just down from Paris, Fontaine. He stared at you most of the night, even before you started climbing on the furniture.”

Louis was working on his brother’s breeches and underclothes, and Philippe shrugged. “I think he wants to paint me. Just another artist looking for a commission from the king of France.”

“Or, he might think you’re beautiful.” Louis shoved everything over Philippe’s hips and down his thighs. “He wouldn’t be wrong.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Louis chuckled as he pushed the remainder of Philippe’s clothes to the floor. His brother stepped out of them and stood before him naked. Louis cleared his throat before looking Philippe directly in the eye. “I can’t imagine anyone who would think otherwise. Now, on with your nightgown. It’s a chilly night.”

But Philippe knelt on the edge of the bed. He reached out and cupped Louis’s cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, Louis froze. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. The gesture was not surprising—the extreme gentleness of the touch was.

“Fontaine is a bore,” Philippe said. “I would never take him as a lover. Besides, what does he know of beauty. He’s merely a painter. You are the very sun.”

“Philippe,” Louis whispered, but he did not know what to say after that.

“After all, why shouldn’t we?” Philippe’s thumb brushed across Louis’s lips, first one way and then back the other. Never before had Louis felt so helpless, so incapable of movement. What did his brother think he was about? “I have often wondered if your lovers saw anything in you as a partner or simply as the most powerful man in the world.”

Louis briefly thought to himself that he could take a step back. But before he communicated the idea to his legs, Philippe leaned in and kissed him. The surprise made Louis gasp, parting his lips enough for his brother’s tongue to enter his mouth. Philippe’s mouth was wet and warm, tongue insistent on exploring Louis. He tasted of wine, naturally, but there was nothing drunken or uncontrolled about the kiss, and Louis stood there under its expert movements. Just stood completely still, while his brother did as he wished, as he analyzed each moment of the kiss dispassionately.

Finally, Philippe broke off the kiss after a gentle, slow lick of Louis’s lips. When he pulled back, he gave an angry sigh, and with a frown, he fell back on his haunches. “I will never understand women. I wouldn’t stay around for something so underwhelming if you were a Roman emperor.” He flopped down and rolled over onto his side with his back to Louis. “I’m going to sleep now.”

Louis just stared for a moment at his brother’s pale, flawless skin. His black hair flowing across his shoulders and over his face. Without thought, Louis licked his lips and let a sudden rush of breath escape his body that he had not realized he had been holding. “You should put on your nightgown and get under the blankets. You don’t want to catch a chill.”

“You are certainly chilly enough for the whole family,” Philippe mumbled into the arm he rested his head upon.

“Philippe, you will be more comfortable if you are properly in bed.”

“And we must be proper, mustn’t we?”

“You are the one who wrote the rules of etiquette.”

Philippe’s only answer was to curl tighter in on himself.

Louis sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He brushed Philippe’s hair from his face, stroked the shining locks where they lay across his shoulders. “If you wish to stay like this, I will not force you to do differently.”

“Thank you,” Philippe said, the two simple words slurring with drink and exhaustion.

And so Louis stayed a few more minutes, running his hand through Philippe’s hair until he was asleep. Louis rose and went to the other side of the bed. He pulled all of the blankets free so that he might fold them over and cover Philippe. Once tucked in thus, Louis knelt on the bed behind his brother. Leaning over, Louis pressed his lips to Philippe’s temple, pushing as hard as he dared, not wanting to wake his brother, but wanting to put all of the love he had withheld from the kiss earlier into this one.


End file.
